Fool's Gold
by The Eternity Dragon
Summary: She held the knife firmly in her hand as she pressed it against her thigh. Filled with his own self hatred at wanting someone he could not and should not have. "Your kind destroyed us," his words were a quiet poison. "Humanity is guilty of genocide." She knew full well why he had given her the knife, he meant to push her to use it on him.
1. Prologue

_**Fool's Gold**_

Prologue

'Quoi, qu'on y croit ou pas, y aura bien un jour où on y croira plus.'

Someone beneath the open window was complaining of the heat.

Rain had not been seen in Tevinter for the past eight months, countless days merging into an endless desert of drought. All of Thedas seemed to swelter under the heat. Outside the stone walls, the grass lining the stately courtyard was browned. Blades of razor grass clumped in dark patches almost defiantly, their sharp waxy leaves impenetrable to the sun's blazing eye. These patches were carefully avoided by the many sandaled feet that crossed the atrium on their way to the Chambers of Deliberation. Every now and again, a slave swathed in dark cottons, would scamper from trough to trough of colourful plants, pouring amphora after amphora of cool water into the dusty soil. Even the insects seemed too lethargic and drained to move energetically through the air, instead they clunk to the dark cool corners, a dull toneless hum as if it was the most they could muster.

The room stank of incense, great dark curling plumes of purple smoke hanging in the air like a thick fog. It was unbearably hot too, the heat swirling in spirals of and dancing around the room like a spirit of mirth – how anyone would be able to work under such conditions was a mystery.

As if on cue Ignatios put down his quill, using the feather to tickle his chin thoughtful as he regarded the contents of the scroll. It would do, he thought and leaning forwards signed a scratchy spider-like signature into the bottom right of the parchment whilst simultaneously reaching for the wine cup. His fingers found it easily without his eyes lifting from the scrawls of almost illegible letters before him. He took a long draught of the dark red liquid, with all the need of a man who has just walked a thousand leagues under the unforgiving sun. Refreshed he took another piece of paper from the pile by his elbow and he prepared the wax seal, scrawling the words: 'To be sent to Vol Dorma – For Master Nilus.'

The family seal lay in the top-most draw of the ornate desk he was currently sat at. Brass dragons made for clawed feet, and dark highly polished wood made its handsome surface. He carefully withdrew the seal and stamped the insignia onto the letter. Admiring its elegance for the countless time. A double headed snake, its body entwined in a loop with one head at each end and diagonal slits for eyes. The brass head made a satisfying sound as it plunged into the hot wax and Ignatios smiled to himself, something's about his job were satisfying; like the pay, the wine, the food, the culture, the history. Whatever he wanted, he would find here. Whatever he could dream of, he would find here.

There were certain perks that Minrathous brought to one's attention that were not so easily accessible anywhere else. He did not enjoy the politics but he accepted the necessity of it. You needed a shrewd sharp mind to succeed here, and his position was something many of the lower casts envied. Nodding to himself he moved promptly from the desk, striding purposefully across the room which was littered with books and pieces of parchment, all strewn about on low wooden tables or the floor.

He stopped by a handle built into the dark panelling of the opposite wall, a few paces across a huge window revealed a breath-taking view of the Nocen Sea. It's waves rolling against the cliffs of the inland like sheets azurite glass, cascading into fountains of white foam as they crashed against the rocky shores.

Ignatios turned the crank, apparently oblivious to the sight before him, he might as well be standing in a piss stained alley for notice he took of it. He concentrated simply on a panel in the dark wood in front of him which, after a moment slid open, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall. He withdrew a crystal cylinder from his back pocket, slipped the parchment inside and then placed it in the hole in front of him. He then turned the crank again so that the slot he had just uncovered was tilted back on hinges and the paper slid quickly away into the darkness.

The bell rang clear throughout the stone corridors; he had been waiting for this since sunrise. The sharp notes of the bell beckoning him to the Chambers of Deliberation. He strode back to his desk, sweeping his ink and quill into a small leather satchel, and after a moments consideration a small flask followed the other objects into the bag. A name formed on his lips, but before he could call it his scribe appeared in the doorway as if from nowhere. He was smudged with ink, pieces of parchment poking out from his pockets and carrying Ignatios's hat. Waiflike and tall, a spindly figure with a clever face and intelligent eyes. Better yet, he was a half-elf. Meaning no high official would pay him any heed, allowing him to slip from one place to another unseen and unnoticed.

"They are gathering in the auditorium, Sir."

"So I hear Sergius, let us follow."

Following his lead Sergius fell into step behind Ignatios and listened to his master grumble without commentary.

"All of Tevinter stinks, I daresay all of Thedas stinks. This is the fetid smell of decay Sergius. There has been no rain for over eight months. The streets are thick with the filth of sweat and dust, and our wind is sickly with the threat of plague. Next men will lie down on the streets and die of heat, only to be consumed by the crows."

He turned, looking at the half-elf for a reply and he was duty bound to respond.

"It is not so bad, the aqueducts still bring water down from the mountains."

Ignatios let out a cold bark of laughter, nodding to the other Altus joining the cress as they entered the long hallway that joined the outside world to the Chambers of Deliberation.

"The aqueducts run dry Sergius, slowed to a dribble. Here we are surrounded by the Nocen Sea, almost drowned in water and yet none to quench our thirst." He stopped to light a candle before entering the revered chambers, kneeling before a mural of the Black Divine and quickly marking the sign of fealty across his chest. The murmuring of tens of dozens behind and beside him doing exactly the same flitted about the chamber like an imitation of the wind.

"I believe the Grand Cistern holds water enough for five years." Sergius responeded doggedly, following his master as they crossed into the magnificent and huge oval room carved from stone, all one seamless design. A central oval platform at the centre and around it rows and rows of sculpted stone seats, rising almost to what seemed the ceiling. Huge slits in the wall allowed the strong light to penetrate into the room, shards of golden light falling onto the floor and colouring it like the sun. The smell of herbs and fragranced smoke lay heavy in the air as thick smoggy haze; a somewhat soporific effect. Dulling the senses and blunting the mind as the world turned from day to early evening.

Ignatios willed himself awake and was for once thankful for the uncomfortable feel of the chair as they seated themselves in their usual seats.

"Is today's vote important?" Sergius asked in a discreet undertone as other Altus and members of the chamber sat nearby.

"It is of minor importance," Ignatious answered, trying to rearrange himself in his seat the best he could possibly manage so both of his buttcheeks were spared from going numb for the longest amount of time possible. "But the Magister wishes to cast his vote on the topic at hand, so we must be here to carry out his will."

Sergius pressed his lips together as another member of the chamber took a seat next to Ignatios – he would not be able to speak now. Despite being a free-man and an educated one at that, his birth and heritage meant he little beyond a slave in the eyes of most members of the Imperium. He cast his intelligent eyes instead upon the oval platform and waited for the grand doors to shut and the council to start.

The hours passed by in a hazy blur for Ignatious, there were many topics for discussion today. Hardly any were relevant and had little to do with him, many were to ploy of Magisters exerting their will on the stand to get their own way. He was not concerned with this, the droning of voices filled the great room, spiralling to the ceiling and down again as the debates went on and on and on. His eyelids grew heavy and despite his best efforts he felt the clawing need to sleep pull at his insides, dragging his head down into an uncomfortable slumber. Sergius would wake him…Sergius would know…

"Ouch!" Ignatious sat bolt upright in his seat. His arm throbbing from where the half-elf had pinched his skin. He was about to turn angrily in his seat but became acutely aware of the silence filling the great chamber. He looked around surreptitiously, conscious of the fact that he had been asleep and even possibly snoring; a gauche but not an inexcusable display within these walls of antiquity. Everyone was still seated, no one had set themselves on fire or fallen out of their seats from what he could tell so what in the Maker's name had...

That was when he noticed that the doors had been thrown open again, an unusual fact in itself. Once the doors to the chambers were closed they would not be reopened again for anyone less than the Imperial Archeon or her second in command. Then he noticed the two solitary figures walking slowly down the pathway between the seats towards the platform.

To his knowledge he had never seen them before, for he would surely have recognised the man. Dressed in expensive clothes, a formidable display of wealth, taste and style. He had a commanding air about him. Dark and handsome features, an aquiline nose and a promising mouth. He seemed completely unperturbed by the hundreds of eyes resting on him as he walked to the centre of the chamber, his lips portraying an expression of both amusement and pleasure. And yet – that was nothing to say of the figure next to him, arm intertwined with his. Her face was heavily veiled beneath black lace, a full figure in a floor length dark gown with the bodice of the dress pulled tight across her high proud breasts, glittering stones embroidered into the fabric so whenever the dress caught the light it glittered like starlight.

The stranger looked pleasantly at the speaker currently standing on the platform, and as the silence grew and became more pressing his look became harder until the speaker stood aside.

Without hesitation the stranger took the centre stage, a whisper filtered through the seated Altus and members of the chamber like a ripple.

This was unprecedented. Who was this man? Who was this woman? This was not done – he was an unknown, a man of undetermined reputation strolling into their stronghold. This was the cradle of civilization, not a stage for heathens to parade across. Where was his breeding? What right did he have to be there?

Members of the audience began to shift – the spell of silence it seemed had lifted at last and people were muttering complaints beneath their breath. It was only a matter of time before this swelled and …

"I have come," the stranger began. The female figure silent by his side, hands clasped across her chest, head bowed. "with a proposition for you."

"Who are you?" Someone from the back shouted, a murmur of agreement ran through the crowd.

Yes, who was this stranger.

"Forgive me," he replied his eyes glittering dangerously, a strange smile sweeping across his handsome features. "I am Lord Rufinius Coven."

Ignatious thought to shout something bold like: "Never heard of him!" but he was stilled by Sergius's heavy hand on his wrist. The half-elf's eyes were narrowed and his face was pale, so Ignatious stilled his tongue.

"And of course this is my sister, Lady Herron." His dark eyes sparkled and Ignatious felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand straight.

"We have a proposition for you and all of the Tevinter Empire. We bring the promise of wealth, of power, and of magic that has been lost to Tevinter since Archeon Thalsian. We bring offerings from our Master, a God bound in mortal flesh. We only ask that you listen to our offer."

"Go," Ignatious whispered to Sergius. The cold feeling of dread climbing from his stomach and into his mouth. "Inform Magister Pavus."

Sergius silently slipped from his seat, moving swiftly and seamlessly through the rows of chairs to one of the small servants exits built discretely into the tall walls of stone. As his fingers felt for the latch he felt something bore into the back of his skull like a nail, and he turned slowly on the spot.

From all aspects of the room the platform was easily seen. A masterwork of construction, the light from the ceiling falling onto the speakers giving them an illuminating glow. The woman's position had changed slightly Sergius noted, his stomach twisting over on itself. Her veiled head raised and his heart leapt into his chest as he realised her pointed gaze was resting on him. It seemed to squeeze the breath from his chest and turn the blood in his veins to ice, he snatched at breath and fumbled for the latch, desperate to get away.

" _I see you."_ She seemed to say, and for some unknown reason, he was filled with fear.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One: Homecoming**

 **9:35 Dragon**

They'd been gone a while now, Elayne Travelyan thought as an aside as she sat on the sunny bank with her brother Willem, waiting for the other two to make their way back to where they were picnicking. Willem seemed oblivious to this fact in the midst of pouring himself another measured cup of wine, so she threw a knob of cheese at the back of his head.

"Good Maker, what was that for?"

"Where are they Bill?"

Willem shrugged.

"They'll be back soon pigeon, you're not home often enough for them to tease you on a regular basis anymore. They'll want to make the most they can out of what precious time they have left. Speaking of which…" He paused, looking her over.

"Where's that magic stick you carry got to?"

"You mean my _staff_?"

He waggled his brows, "Potato potato really isn't it?"

"No, it's not a potato."

Willem laughed. "Alright, your _staff_ then Miss Proper; where are you hiding it? Golly I hope this circle doesn't take all of your sense of humour away from you. It would make you frightfully dull."

"I'm not allowed to take my 'magic stick' outside of the college for social visits, I think it's seen as inviting too much trouble."

"In case you decide to use blood magic the second the Circle lets you out of their site? So they tie your hands behind your back so it would be extremely difficult for you to cause mayhem? Ingenious."

"Precisely, and I was so looking forward to binding you to some inanimate object. It would make everyone's lives so much more peaceful."

"Wait – you're not going to turn me into a toad?"

She blinked at him, "No one actually does that Bill."

"Well, I see a gap in the market then. So how often do your fellow mages visit their homes? Per annum? Fortnightly?"

"No actually, a lot of mages are turned down on their requests to visit their families. Some never leave the confines of the Circle from what I can gather."

"A lot of families aren't related to nobility however, or come from a powerful house." Willem remarked, "Besides I seem to remember father and mother contributing a large lump sum to the Ostwick Circle. I'm sure that probably has something to do with whether social visits are declined and granted. After all, it's in _their_ best interests for Ma and Pa to make a generous donation again in the near future."

He looked seriously at her for a moment with his thoughtful grey eyes. "They do treat you well don't they Ela? You would tell us… Tell me, if they did things that you didn't like. You would tell us, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would Bill, you know me. I'd shriek so all the Fade could hear me before I was silent."

He squeezed her hand, seemingly reassured.

"The Mater hates you being so far away from the family, Pa doesn't let on much that he misses you, but he does. I've caught him in the gallery a few times staring at your miniature looking misty eyed."

"Oh Bill please. I miss them too, **every day**. I miss you, Roderick and Asher all the time, but life in the Circle isn't as bad as some make it out to be. I love my studies and it would be more worrying if I wasn't properly trained."

"So come back after you've finished your training then."

"We shall see."

"Ahh…" Willem took a deep sip of wine, "A woman's famous yet cryptic way of saying 'No fucking way'. Don't you want to be married off to some powerful Lord?"

Elayne snorted, "I think I shall keep hold of my independence for as long as possible. I love the fact that within the Circle just talent is met with just reward. I don't want to be married to some to some social climber who expects me to pop out babies as soon as possible; no _thank you_."

"The Mater and Pa was a love match, albeit I don't know if he regrets it now…."

"Yes well, most of the girls I grew up with are paired off now."

"Unhappily?"

"I guess it depends what you mean by happiness and what makes you happy. I don't want to sit at home working on my fine embroidery, I want to be out there, doing _things_."

"Yes I remember one of your favourite games to be was Wardens and the Blight."

Willem tore at a piece of bread thoughtfully, "Tell me Ela, what are the Templars like?"

She hesitated and he sensed it.

"The Templars are… courteous." She answered carefully.

Willem raised an eyebrow at her, "Well make sure that's _all_ they are Ela."

He shifted putting the cup to one side and lying on his back examining the sky before them for a while. His eyes roving over the shapes of the clouds and the tops of the trees as they reached up to touch the blue eternity stretching out before them.

She noticed he opened his mouth, and shut it again so the silence became pregnant and Elayne found herself prodding her brother with her foot impatiently.

"What?" He asked, pretending to look innocent.

"Spit it out Bill. What were you going to ask?"

"Have you ever…"

Another prod.

"Okay – okay. Have you ever spoken to a demon?"

"Why? In case I'm possessed by one now?"

"Well I thought it would be impolite to mention the horns and tail, but you were always frightfully ugly."

She dropped an apple on his head in retaliation.

"Yes, I have."

He looked at her expectantly so she continued, "The first time I spoke to a demon - properly spoke to a demon that is, was my Harrowing."

"That strange thing they make you do to show you're a fully-fledged magician?"

"Yes, so after you pull a rabbit out of a hat you're asked to enter the Fade and find a demon or spirit or thing and show you can resist the pull of being possessed."

Willem turned round and drew his knees up to his chest, they were of a similar age (he was only three years older than her, the youngest boy in the family) with similar dark looks, dark curly hair and high cheekbones.

"So?" He asked in both a curious and slightly suspicious tone, "What happened?"

"It ate me and I died. The end."

" _Ha-ha-ha_."

"On a serious note, it's not unusual for an apprentice to perish or become possessed at their Harrowing. That's why there are so many Templars present at the event, so they can safely dispatch the mage if anything were to go wrong."

"Lovely. But I am more interested in what happened to you specifically." He accessed her critically, reminding her forcefully of a bird of prey (perhaps a Falcon or a Sparrow hawk?).

"So you drank some lyrium and entered the Fade. Does lyrium transport you to the Fade?"

"No Bill – no human or mortal can set physical foot in the Fade, it is impossible. The Fade just sort of is … like the concept of a room behind a closed door. You can think about the room behind the door, you know that a room exists behind the door but you cannot open it. With mages, you are taught to let the Fade envelops you."

He was totally lost at sea by this, she could tell.

"It's not important Bill."

"So what happened pigeon?"

"I faced a demon and she asked… well – she didn't ask. She knew what I wanted, or at least what I'd been dreaming about for the past few months."

"She already knew who you were?!" He looked concerned, "Ela did she try to possess you?!"

"Well of course she did Bill, isn't that the purpose of the Harrowing? Spirits and demons are all around us all the time, as we wake, walk and sleep. We might not always be able to see them but they are always there. All she told me though was that she had a way of making sure I got through my Harrowing safely."

"And what did you say?"

"I thanked her very much for her kind offer, but told her I wasn't interested in her proposition."

"So what happened?"

"She wasn't too pleased, she tried to persuade me to reconsider and I still refused she tried to overpower me."

"FUCK!"

"Well I'm here aren't I? So she obviously didn't succeed."

Willem kneaded his head with his knuckles, "Maker that sounds dangerous."

"I believe it's dangerous because they make it so."

"Excuse me?"

She sighed and popped a grape between her lips, biting it clean in half so that the tart sweet flavor burst inside her mouth.

"We walk amongst spirits every day, our world, our wants and our dreams are reflected in the Fade. When a mage enters the Harrowing they are actively searching for a demon to possess them. It is not a natural course of events, it is an artificial situation with a creature we do not fully understand. I don't think the Harrowing means anything more than what the first Enchanter means it to believe and what the Templars want to see. Perhaps it is just the Fade's way of reflecting _our_ ritual, it gives us what we seek because we seek it so adamantly. Those with a weaker will the Fade overcomes. The idea of the Harrowing is so very human in nature, it's so _very Chantry_. They want to guarantee that a mage is as safe as possible, so how can they prove that? By the most physical evidence possible that a mage will resist temptation and not allow themselves to become the vessel to another being that could easily overpower a human. Proof that the Templars are in control of the situation, proof that we will not succumb to blood magic. 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'"

"It doesn't sound like you are very pro-Circle, pigeon."

"Oh don't get me wrong, I think Circles are the best places for mages to a certain extent, it lifts some out of poverty, elves are treated as equals, and it gives security to those who have never had any before. But I believe this does vary from Circle to Circle. Do you remember before I went, I could hardly control my magic. I kept accidentally setting things on fire."

"You still do don't you? The upholstery in the dining room has never recovered."

They both grinned at each other, remembering the time their older brother Asher had leapt out at them from behind a curtain and Elayne in her fright had set the carpet and Asher's sleeve on fire. Asher had been given such a hard smack with a broom handle by their mother for causing whole incident he claimed he hadn't been able to sit on his left buttock for a week afterwards.

"It is a bad time to be a mage though, I hear the Templars have seized control of Kirkwall after their little incident with the Viscount and his son."

"Hasn't it always been a bad time to be a mage though?"

Willem shrugged, "I guess it depends who you ask. Maybe you'll go to Tevinter and then I'll have a Magister for a sister – wouldn't that be interesting. At least you could do what you wanted _when_ you wanted, without having to ask for bloody permission all the time."

"Oh yes, Magister Travelyen – Master of blood magic."

"And demons, don't forget the demons."

A cloud passed over the sun and he squeezed her hand as the shadow fell across them both.

"Now," he said standing up and stretching. "Where the fuck have our hapless older siblings gotten off to?"

Roderick and Asher had left some hour and a half earlier on the pretense of getting more supplies for lunch, but seeing as half their picnic food still lay untouched Elayne had surmised that the two had been plotting something (no doubt devious) together.

"Shall we take the basket?" She asked, looking down into the mostly uneaten contents of the lovingly provided food that Cook had given them.

"No, pack it up and we'll leave it here. I'll hang it from the branch of a tree and we can come back and collect it later. At least that way no bears will easily get at it, and if the other two pricks are full we can give it to the groundskeeper's family on our way back home."

As she packed away the remains of lunch, Willem went to untie and re-saddle the horses, both of whom had been grazing lazily a little way down the bank. It had been some months since she had ridden a horse as excursions outside the circle unless on designated leave to her family were hard to come by for a junior mage, and she had found that her leg muscles were now aching uncomfortably. Still, she hoped to impress the Circle. She had heard of the Knight Enchanters held by the Imperial court and the idea of a mage wielding a Spirit Blade had captured her imagination since she had heard the first whisperings of it in the Circle library. Few were chosen, and the lucky few needed to be of the highest caliber as one needed to possess a command of physical strength as well as absolute magical control.

Within half an hour the picnic basket had been suspended on the highest branch possible, although Elayne felt if a bear was very inclined to eat the remains of their picnic – she would not be quarreling with it. Bears were quite big and ferocious enough at a distance _thank you_ without being brought face to face with their teeth, massive bulk and equally vicious claws.

They altered their horses pace between a trot and playful canter as they raced each other across the rolling hills and tussocks, Elayne felt herself instinctively reach for her staff several times throughout the race. It had become a primary reflex, as easy as breathing and twice as quick. The only times she had been out on horseback with the Circle it had been in training and she had been taught how to fight on horseback the techniques of how to quickly take an opponent down, to immobilize a target or to sweep the enemy from his horse with one quick spell from across the battle field. All of these techniques of course required a staff – which of course she had not been allowed to take with her.

Oh well, it was probably for the best. Willem might not take kindly to being swept off his horse by magical means just because he threatened to best her in a race.

They were a few miles from their parent's holding when Willem saw the horse wandering down the lane towards them, saddleless and distressed.

"That's Asher's horse…" Elayne said, almost to herself as her brother wasted no time in seizing the startled mare by the bridal.

"What the fuck is going on?" He swore, taking the bow from where it was slung on his saddle. "Where the fuck is Asher? Where the fuck is bloody Roderick?"

Elayne looked about, "They can't be on the road – they would have been seen by somebody by now, and Asher would have never let his horse wander about like this. Something must have happened."

The sky was full of clouds as they looked at their surroundings, a dull grey light seemingly colouring the landscape in shadows.

"Ela, you should go home. I'll stay – I'll look for them. Tell our parents, they'll send the guard."

"I'm not leaving you!" She napped, "Either we both go back or we both go looking for them, but I'm not leaving you here that's just ridiculous."

"Don't argue." he sucked in air, "Do as I say!"

"Fuck off." She said quickly, her hazel eyes flashing like a lioness. "You're not my father, Bill. I'll do what I like, and I say I'm helping you look for them." She wheeled her horse around, sending it into a brisk trot down the road in the direction Asher's horse had apparently come from. Behind her Willem let out such a slew of blasphemous and vulgar words that her ears turned pink.

For the most part Elayne ignored him, scouring the road for any sign of what might have happened to them. She had a sick feeling of dread seated in the pit of her stomach now, as if her guts had clenched in on themselves making it hard to breathe.

Where were they? What had they been doing? Were they alright? How long had they been in trouble whilst she and Willem had sat blithely talking about rubbish?

It was Willem who noticed the hoof prints, a commotion of activity leading off into a thicket of trees.

"Looks like they weren't alone at any rate…" His voice trailed off, his grey eyes looking intensely at the trees before them.

"Ela," he turned to her seriously. "I don't know what's happening but I think this might be dangerous. I'd prefer if you went home."

Elayne looked her brother square in the face, swallowing a sudden urge to head-butt him. She knew his stubbornness as well as she knew her own. What he said did make sense, but if she turned to leave now and something happened to him she would never forgive herself.

"I'm staying." She told him firmly, "You'll need backup and I'm good on a horse."

His grey eyes almost bored a hole into her skull, but she stood her ground and after what seemed an age he reached down and pulled a long dagger from inside his boots, handing it to her silently.

"Don't hesitate to do whatever it takes if it means you'll be safe." He said quietly, and without another word his turned his horse towards the thickets and she followed him into the shadows.

* * *

The undergrowth was deathly quiet, the sound of her own heart beat sounded catastrophically loud in her own ears, almost driving her nuts with its rapidity. There was no sound of her brothers, no hide nor hair of them. Elayne swallowed, trying to keep down the sick that threatened to come out of her throat.

Perhaps this was a joke. A cruel and vicious joke the two of them had cooked up together to frighten her. How very like them – Asher would find more than his sleeve on fire if that was the case. His eyebrows would be fair game this time.

She felt her horse hesitate beneath her, but she urged her on with a few whispered sweet nothings and a reassuring pat. A silently as possible, they pressed forwards. Neither one daring to speak lest they should break the overhanging stillness. The silence felt like an enormous weight pressing down on her back slowly crushing her the further into the undergrowth they went.

Eventually after what seemed like hours they came to a small clearing, the sun peering glumly between the trees, casting long shadows across the grass and leaf strewn floor. Dense undergrowth surrounded them on their side and the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood to attention – _something was there_ , she could feel it. She immediately drew her horse to a complete stop feeling spooked, letting a slow hiss escape from between her lips. Willem pulled back too stilling his horse looking at her intently but not saying a word, both hands laid on his bow which was lying across his lap.

She could see nothing – hear nothing. She was just sure of the feeling that something was there, _watching her_. She looked for eyes in the darkness but found none, saw no movement and closing her eyes for a brief second to concentrate heard absolutely nothing.

Was she spooking herself? Seeing the reflection of eyes in the darkness when there were none? Was she imagining the silvered glint of teeth in the undergrowth? Dark pupils peering at her from beneath barbed bramble leaves, something ready to jump at her and to attack?

Elayne's hands were twitching for the haft of her staff, missing the feel of the gnarled wood beneath her fingers _acutely_. She felt naked without it, especially now. She could only work crude magic without it, the sort of magic she had accidentally used as a girl. How could she protect Willem if she was so encumbered, perhaps she should have gone back and sent for help…

A twig snapped suddenly to her right, but before she had time to react Willem had already sent an arrow spinning through the air just past her head. It found its mark, and with a crackling noise a man fell to the ground, black vapors swirling around his body as he writhed around in agony. The arrow embedded deep in his neck. Her horse skittered, rearing slightly as Elayne fought to control the animal as the man's gurgling became quieter and eventually he stilled.

Willem jumped from his saddle, and kicked the man onto his back bending over to pat the man down looking for clues whilst muttering quietly under his breath: "Mercenary? Bandit? An organized group? An opportunist? It would take more than this to best Roderick and Asher."

"It looks like a highway man," Elayne said as her horse quietened, panic fluttered up and down her body and she forced herself to be still and calm.

"Do you think they were surprised? Jumped by a number of opportunists?"

"Well he's got nothing of great interest on him I can tell you that," Willem replied somewhat sarcastically pulling out what looked like some smelly crusty socks from the dead man's pocket.

"It has been known to happen sometimes but not recently. Perhaps they just noticed two men from what is known to be the most powerful House in the area strolling down the road together? Did someone send them then? Perhaps for a ransom? At least this would explain why Asher and his horse are no longer together, but it does not explain where Roderick is."

Willem turned round accessing his sister sitting high on her horse, his eyes narrowed slightly. 'Did they come for you?' he was wondering, he didn't have to say it for her to know that's what he was thinking. Did they come for a mage and mistake one of their vagabond older brothers (no doubt boasting about magic or some such idiocy) as they had pottered back down the road, unsuspecting.

He stepped cautiously into the clearing, listening hard. Then suddenly they both heard it, faint but just audible. Perhaps three hundred or four hundred meters away. They both looked in the same direction.

"Ah," said Willem "Perhaps now we have our answer."

They rode their horses quickly through the remainder of the thicket, as they went they saw the evidence of a skirmish that only Roderick and Asher could have left behind them. Blood, bits of armour, weapons and bodies littered the undergrowth as they made their way out to the other side. The thicket ended and the dark press of trees gave way a large open field at the bottom of a hill.

There had clearly been some sort of fight here as several bodies lay strewn on the green grass in crimson puddles, further away in the distance she could see two figures on a horse one with short blond hair, the other with brown. The light of the sun reflected from the metal shoulder plate one of the men on the horse wore – Asher, the other sported a distinguished nose that could be seen from even this distance. It was Asher and Roderick to be certain, saddled on the same horse giving whoever these men were, absolute hell.

They were pursued by men in heavy armour, one carrying a mace and another with a long cruel looking weapon seated on his own frighteningly large horse. As she and Willem looked on they saw their brothers bring their horse around, Roderick bent forward making his profile low as he urged the horse forward. In one seamless movement they charged towards the mace wielding warrior and Asher leant from the saddle keeping himself mounted by clenching his knees and pulled a pike from the chest of a fallen enemy as they cantered past. Expertly spinning the instrument round and within the same breath imped the warrior through the ribcage without breaking stride. The man he didn't stand a chance. With an audible crunch that they could hear from the hill the pike went cleanly through his body. Asher roared and Roderick brought the horse around again, circling the remaining warrior on the horse.

"Are you satisfied?" Asher yelled, "Are you done? Or must we kill all of you?"

"We would rather you leave." Roderick this time, the eldest and the most sensible. "There has been enough bloodshed today."

The man on the horse bellowed his response with words that Elayne could not catch, but from the tone of his voice she could tell he did agree to her brothers' terms.

"Well," Willem muttered moving his horse forwards. "Could be worse."

Elayne had been about to ask: 'How?' when suddenly to their left they heard a disturbance. An archer cleverly concealed in the undergrowth drew back the bowstring of his bow and let an arrow fly. Willem let out a yell of rage angry with himself for being oblivious to this, a dagger flying seconds later from his hand and embedding itself deep into the man's skull with a sick sort of crunch – like a snail being ground into a stone. But it was too late, the arrow met its target, burying itself into the neck of her brothers' horse.

Both Elayne and Willem let out the same wordless cry, eyes wide as they watched the horse reared back onto its hind legs, a terrible scream emitting from its mouth as it fell backwards. A look of surprise registered on both of her brothers' handsome faces, and as if in slow motion Elayne saw Roderick fall as Asher was thrown clear. Their sable mount toppling like a sandy mountain onto Roderick's lower limbs, trapping him beneath it.

With a shriek like a banshee the mounted warrior turned his steed towards where Roderick was lying imprisoned beneath his dying horse. Asher was both too far away to help his brother as well as seeming too dazed to be able to provide him with aid. Roderick struggled to free himself, but it was no good. The menacing glint of the sun caught the wicked blade of the weapon as the warrior charged towards her brother. His intention to kill written as plain as day across his features. If someone didn't do something now, Roderick would die.

Elayne did not think, she could not think, she simply acted on instinct.

Deaf to Willem's cry of "NO!" she spurred her horse onwards. The gravity of the situation had drained all fear from her body. She must stop this man at all costs, she must stop the horse. Her will turned to magic, and magic flowed from her to the horse and back to her again.

Understanding singularly what they must do. She rode without fear, faster than she had ever ridden before. Her pain forgotten, her fear a distant memory. All that mattered was getting _there_ _._ Her horse galloping faster that she had ever galloped before, faster than she had ever ridden before. Their speed was like wind, like wild fire, like magic. She lay almost flat, pressed against her horse's mane, unaware that she was whispering words in a language that she barely understood into her steed's ear. Her speed was almost inhuman, she felt her magic hum under her skin as a tangible force. The warrior came closer and closer into view, saw Asher's face as she flew past on the horse but did not hear what he shouted after her. All that mattered was that she got close enough to see the whites of this man's eyes so she could drive the dagger through his skull.

He did not expect her – or perhaps he did not expect her to be so reckless. She did not slow the horse down as she approached, nor change her trajectory as he had clearly expected she would do. But by that time it was too late.

Their horses collided and she saw the whites of his eyes. The keen blade of the dagger into the pink flesh of his cheek and through the roof of his mouth as she was thrown from her horse; and within that instance the world set itself on fire.

* * *

 **9:41 Dragon**

What had seemed like a five-minute respite had rapidly spiralled into an international incident, the Inquisitor – Lady Elayne Trevelyan dripped rapidly cooling soapy water onto the rich Orlesian carpet that covered the floor of her bedchambers as her irate and flamboyant Tevinter Mage paced backwards and forwards over it.

"This is ridiculous!"

Elayne sat on the edge of her bed swathed in only a small towel, still dripping and moist from the hot water. She listened patiently to Dorian, regretting the half an hour she'd taken for a bath as apparently the world had descended to hell in handbasket in the few minutes she had been absent.

It seemed like the safest option to nod in agreement as spectacular aspersions flew from the tip of his tongue like dragonfire.

Dorian continued his pronounced and practiced tirade, his arms flapping in alternative directions, timely pauses to accurately exaggerate the stroking of his moustache, all as he passionately paced around the room. The midday sun sliding through the gaps in the drapes like slices of gold, illuminating the Orlesian drapery so it shone like stars.

"I mean, who do they _think they are_?" He snarled, moustache aquiver. "To turn up uninvited inside someone else's stronghold without so much as an invitation. Why doesn't my family just move in? Bring the ornaments, rearrange your furniture, pick out your new curtains?"

Elayne nodded again it seemed wise to do so. The memory of the encounter with Dorian's father was still fresh on her mind and she was keen to avoid another confrontation of a similar sort. She imagined the pain of it still smarted in Dorian's memory, her lip twisting as she recalled the shouting match he and his farther had across the Gull and Lantern. Family entanglements were always complicated, and the higher one's family descended into the 'upper ranks' the more complicated they became. Family 'Duty' being a word that hung heavily on her own conscience like a lead weight strapped about her chest. It hadn't mattered that Elayne had shocked her parents by being mage-born, they had only cared because it had forced them to let her leave the family household.

If Elayne had been born without magic she probably would have been betrothed or married by now. So far she had escaped that fate. But she wondered if she was still expected to keep up with family traditions: work hard, impress and marry higher. Being the youngest out of four handsome and clever siblings she had a lot to live up to, a long way to climb, and a very long way to fall.

"I mean really it is _outrageous_!" Dorian exclaimed, all but exploding with indignation. He was good at that; knowing when on to put on a show and when to stop. He was astute, had quick dark eyes and a sharp sense of wit. He knew she was only half paying attention as she wound her dark curly wet hair around her fingers and agreed with him, how he could he not? She was his best friend, and as such he threw himself dramatically into the nearest chaise-longue; hand draped over his eyes.

There was a silence.

"I suppose," Elayne said after a moment, feeling an uncomfortable trickle of water slide between her breasts. "That you want me to come with you?"

Dorian made a muffled sound from where he was positioned on the chaise-longue as if the topic physically pained him to even contemplate, hand still slung dramatically over his face.

"Because," Elayne continued, used to this game. "I would be happy to."

A moments pause.

"Well in that case…" As she thought it would be.

"Meet me downstairs in an hour."

"An hour?!" She leapt up from the bed. "Dorian, I am hardly in a state to be receiving envoys from Tevinter nobility. I'm in my bloody dressing gown."

Dorian's eyes flashed mischievously as he looked her up and down from his position on the chaise-longue. "Nonsense, I'm sure anybody of any common sense would be happy to receive the Inquisitor in naught but her bathrobe. I'm certainly sure the Knight-Commander would be delighted to receive her in less."

A shoe flew across the room toward him, he elegantly batted it away with a flick of his hand, a ripple of magic spinning through the air as it dropped onto the carpet.

"Needless to say my love, the more delicate part of the matter is as follows. I was engaged to a young woman in Tevinter before I made my escape to you heathen southerners down in the south."

"Only your father knows of your preferences then?"

Elayne was direct, she always had been. Why waste time beating around the bush when something could be confronted right there and then. Something she and Cassandra had always seen eye to eye on.

"Oh no, my mother knew for years as well." He flapped his hand around, "But it's something you'd inform the town criers about, you know? Wouldn't want to expose their son as being some sort of sexual deviant. Good Maker, **no**. Especially if they were going to make any plays for more political influence, my father _is_ a Magister after all. You've got to think about how it would look."

He put on a comical voice, rising from the chaise-longue hands on hips. "Heard about your prodigal son Dorian, you know the devilishly handsome one? Heard he likes to bugger men up the arse."

His raised his eyebrows drolly at her. "Yes, I'm sure that would go down wonderfully over honey-cakes and tea, don't you?"

Elayne felt under the bed for her shift, wishing she hadn't thrown her clothes about the room so haphazardly before desperately clambered into the bathtub. The grit, mud and grime from a three-day trek through the marshes of the Fallow Mire had made her want to scrub her skin with iron bristles in boiling hot water. There was something about the stench of the undead, you could always smell it on your skin a week later, no matter how hard you washed yourself afterwards.

"Dorian, why do I feel like there is something about this meeting you are hiding from me?" Elayne asked. "You're dancing around something, and I think I'll forego the foreplay this time."

His eyes flashed wickedly back at her, "But my darling, the foreplay is the best part."

"I'd rather you just came and finished actually." Her voice was dry and crisp as she raised an eyebrow, her hazel eyes twinkling at him.

"Who knew that our illustrious Herald of Andraste could be so crass?" He looked thoroughly amused by her response.

" _Dorian…"_ Her words now were laced with a little warning.

"So I may have let slip that we are engaged to be married." He said without pausing to breathe, and then went on to contemplate his fingernails as if he'd just commented on how the carpet complimented the wallpaper.

She paused, words momentarily failing her. "And, **when** exactly where you going to tell me this?"

"Now?"

She blinked, dark thick lashes over light hazel almost golden eyes. "Dorian!"

"What? I had no time to prepare you in advance."

"Leliana told me that she had someone personally deliver a letter to you about this over a week ago."

"My lady, do you honestly think I read anything Leliana's cronies give me?"

Elayne raise both of her eyebrows, exactly matching her friend's stare.

"No. I don't suppose you do."

His smile was as charming and handsome as ever, the forefinger of his left hand pressed lightly against his mouth as he surveyed her, giving him a quixotic expression. But she sensed nervousness behind his attractive façade, as if the situation made him uneasy and he was worried she'd turn him down.

"Well it sounds like it's too late to back out now, doesn't it? Especially if they're practically already here." And at that he moved across the room towards her, relief sweeping across his features as he pulled her into a crushing hug.

" _Thank you_." He whispered quietly in her ear, the humour from his voice momentarily gone.

She squeezed him back, annoyed at his duplicity and pleased that he had come to her for help, that he trusted her so fully.

"Now," he sprang back and clapped his hands together loudly. Immediately and as if on cue one of castle staff emerged from behind a door, a brown paper package held aloft above their head. It was then placed delicately onto one of the wooden tables, before bowing themselves out of the room.

"I took the liberty of ordering some clothes for you to wear to this little 'meeting'."

Of course, Dorian the Master of Manipulation.

"Can't have you dressed like a Southern Heathen can we?" he pulled the string that bound the package together to reveal a deep embroidered purple cloth could be seen peeking out from between the brown paper, embellished with damask and a love neckline of gold, tigers eye and yellow topaz.

"I thought it matched your eyes." Dorian said after a moments pause, following her gaze. Elayne flushed, she had worn ceremonial gowns on rare occasions when her family had presented at court and she had always felt slightly awkward in them. Afraid that she would trip, or in a moment of panic her clothes on fire, or even worse, set someone else clothes on fire.

There was little pomp and ceremony as a mage in the circle, clothes were made to be practical, and at home she had spent so much time clambering after Roderick, Asher and Willem that her mother had given up on buying her lavish clothes. Her wardrobe had simply contained dresses that could be easily washed and mended, and to be honest there were not many instances at home that had required her to dress formally and she had never given much thought to it. But a little part of her had always envied Vivienne's elegant form fitting robes and her tall boots made from the finest soft leather. Orlesian mages, or at least those mages that made it to court seemed to have lived another life entirely in comparison to her practical Ostwick circle.

"It's lovely." She murmured quietly.

"If you want I can help you put it on…?" His eyebrows waggled around suggestively.

She pointed at the door, "Get _out_."


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two - A familiar emissary

Ca doit faire au moins mille fois que j'ai compté mes doigts?

"Why are you wearing that?" Solas's voice was almost accusatory as Elayne carefully traversed the stairs from her chambers down to the small corridor that connected her room to the main hall. She had been in the middle of navigating the bottom flight of steps as the door opened and a tall lithe figure paused on the carpet between the door and the rest of the castle.

She arched her brow in response, conscious of the fact that she was barefoot and holding her shoes in her left hand whilst delicately holding the hem of the dress in the other, lest she should trip and break her neck. Or worse, step on it and rip the thing.

"Clothes Solas. I'm wearing clothes."

He was not to be outdone. "Whilst it had escaped my attention that you frequently run around Skyhold exposed to all the elements, I would still like to comment on the fact that this seems an unusual diversion from your normal form of attire."

She gave him a sarcastic smile, almost missing a step. "How very observant of you."

He did not move.

Elayne thought his eyes sparkled a little wickedly as he blocked her only exit. Quietly but unyeilding. Demanding an answer as much for his own curiosity as anyone else's. Thus her options were: to push past him, to retreat _back_ upstairs into her own chamber, or tell him.

So much for going unnoticed.

"We are receiving an envoy from Tevinter." She angled her head so her jaw jutted out at a high slant trying to look imperious. She watched as his eyes roved slowly over her, taking in her appearance from top to toe.

Elayne had pinned her dark hair away from her face and had coaxed her unmanageable fierce curls into a high bun, the thick hair tucked neatly away in the most convenient style possible. Her cheekbones were high, her nose handsome, her mouth forgiving, her skin dark. There was a moments pause as she watched Solas's eyes linger a little over her face, taking that she had applied little paint to both her mouth and eyes. A single line of gold just above her lashes that mirrored the hazel and gold of her own eyes. It matched the collar of the dress perfectly the precious stone shimmering even in the light of the dim hallway.

"Which is why of course," he said with a lazy drawl, placing one hand on the bannister and offering her his free hand so that she could step down more easily. "That I have never seen you dress like that for any other of our prestigious guests. Am I to presume we are having the Imperial Archon over for dinner?"

He drew her down towards him, a small underhand smile curving about his lips, his stormy grey eyes sparkling. Damn him. If she could have snorted fire she would have done, but instead she had to be content pressing her lips together disapprovingly.

"Ah I see." His eyes glittered wickedly, he made her feel guilty somehow. Guilty for helping a friend who had _asked for her help_.

"I better make myself scarce then. Or am I to be serving _you_ dinner to prove you're ready to become part of respected Tevinter society. Dinner wouldn't be complete without an elf serving you amuse-bouche from their knees, now would it?"

"Solas…"

He was still holding her hand even though they were level now, her hand and palm raised above her waist as he gripped it between his long fingers.

"Or am I to provide entertainment during dinner?" He continued. "Your leashed elven mage performing party tricks between the second and third courses? I hear that's what all the fashionable Magisters are doing now-a-days."

"Solas you can _stop_." Elayne said firmly, glaring at him as she felt pink rise into her cheeks, neck and bosom.

"I get it, you're not a fan. The Tevinter Imperium was partially responsible for the destruction of the Elven empire, they unapologetically treat elves as tools rather than living beings, and if any of them share any of Dorian's character traits they are also probably incredibly arrogant about it too."

He merely raised an eyebrow at that.

"But Leliana thinks there is reason to take this envoy seriously. I trust my advisors' opinions and information."

"And the dress?"

The flush turned a deeper crimson.

"Dorian wants to make believe we are …" She fought about furiously for another way to say what she meant to say without sounding ridiculous. But Solas's eyes bored unflinchingly into hers and her mind faltered and flagged for an alternative.

"He wants to make believe we are engaged." Maker's breath it sounded **stupid** to say that out loud. Solas's expression didn't change per-say, but something about his persona hardened. It was almost imperceptible but Elayne could feel him stiffen beside her.

They had over the past year spent a long time together and no doubt he was hard to read, perhaps the hardest to read out of all the companions that she had grown to care for and love. An emotion forged from the hardships they had all been forced to face together. He was not an easy individual to get on with in many ways, he could be curt and dismissive and then seconds later solemn and thoughtful. He was often silent, keeping his thoughts to himself but she had found ways to coax them out of him and she often sought his council. She had learned quickly that he was unlike other elves, seeming to stand apart from the rest of his kind. Any preconceptions she had had of him had been promptly thrown out the window. But he was lonely she thought, even in a room surrounded by people he was always by himself.

When she had probed him on her personal life he spoke little of family or of friends beyond the spirits that had seemed to have kept him company throughout most of his life. Beings that he obviously shared a powerful emotional connection to. One thing that had always struck her about Solas was that he did not care what other people's opinions were of him and she liked that – he was not afraid to be himself. He was wealth of information, seeming both ancient and youthful all at the same time.

Elayne had never met anyone quite like Solas before, and was sure she would never meet anyone like him again. Her own upbringing had been full of family, laughter and love. A family that hadn't cared she'd been mage-born; a family that had treated her as a man's equal. She'd been taught how to use a bow and arrow, carry a sword and how to ride a horse bare-back from an early age. In stark contrast she understood Dorian perfectly – the much loved only child. The hopes and dreams of his parents poured into his very existence. The guilt he felt by disappointing them when he realized he could not live a lie for them. But the foundations of her life that made her who she was and that she could apply to other people simply did not apply to Solas. He was an enigma. Assembled it seemed from sharp intellect, prodigious magical power and an enormous wealth of unconventional knowledge.

She had travelled through time with him, walked physically in the Fade with him, defied his advice by drinking from the Well of Sorrows and walked the precarious edge of a snowy mountain with nothing but his word as her guidance. He had watched over her after she had emerged from the Temple of Ashes, half fearing for his life as Cassandra had threatened on almost an hourly basis to behead him, and it was _he_ who had first guided her hand to closing the Fade Rift. He had never left her side and his will was unrelenting. Together they had stood against Corypheus, and at the final battle they would stand together again, whether it be to live or die.

But despite all this, they had not quarreled sometime, not since he had accused her of becoming Mythal's creature and she had turned on her heel from the atrium slamming the door behind her. For a moment Solas said nothing, and they both stared at each other as if testing each others resolve. Elayne's expression was one of mixed defiance and embarrassment, whilst Solas expression might best have been described as almost hostile. But before anymore words could be exchanged the door behind Solas flew open and Dorian dressed in a fine charcoal grey outfit with matching boots and gloves, strode impressively into the corridor.

"Solas."

The word was jovial; light hearted.

"Dorian." The response was decidely not.

Dorian blinked at the elf, noting the tone of voice and looked slightly bewildered towards Elayne who was still standing shoulder to shoulder next to him.

"Free Marcher." His pet name for her.

"Vint."

He grinned at her response, and then frowned noting the way Solas was still holding onto her hand.

"What on earth are you doing? Are you keeping her hostage?" He asked. "I've been waiting for the past ten minutes for you to be ready. They're here already."

Solas relinquished her hand, for a second a slightly puzzled look crossed his features as if he had forgotten he had been holding it.

"Well I'll let you two attend to our," He paused for effect. "Eminent guest."

Dorian's moustache quivered slightly and Elayne knew he was biting back retort after retort for the sake of urgency. She bent down quickly to slip on her shoes so that Solas's full attention was turned to the Tevinter Mage.

"I also hear that _felicitations_ are in order."

The word was dripped in sarcasm and laced with ridicule. Elayne felt the blood and heat rush to the back of her neck and her ears. She was sure she was now fully crimson – as red as a cherry. She heard Dorian let out a small hiss of disapproval and without looking knew he was swelling up and puffing out his chest as he readied himself to start an argument. But no, not _now_. It was neither the time or the place, and she had better things to do than referee this petty spat. So Elayne, with a derisive snort of her own drew herself up to her full height, picked up her skirts and pushed past both of them into the main hall. Smiling and composed as an anxious Josephine rushed up to her, ushering her into one of the grand reception rooms.

"This is a farce, my lord Dorian. If you expect me to believe that you of all people –"

"The only farce my dear, is your outfit." The Tevinter mage retorted. He was standing on the plush carpet beneath the chandelier in the middle of the room; knee deep in an argument.

"If you have come here to bully me all the way back to my homeland, you are a highly mistaken."

"I have come here because I know my _duty_ Altus Pavus." The woman sitting on the lavish Orlesian chaise-long retorted, not missing a beat. "You father requests that you come _home_ and that you are needed. I am here to make sure that that message is relayed to you. What you choose to do with that information is your own affair, but after this my duty to your family is over. You have slighted me enough for one lifetime."

"You danced with another man at the Coronation ball in front of two hundred onlookers, and yet I've slighted you? Has my mother sent you to remind me of all my wrongdoings? Does she hope to chastise me back back home? Or do they realize I will be obliged to run in the opposite direction of wherever it is that you decide to stay?"

Her gooseberry green eyes sparkled up at him, her neat pitch black hair elegantly curled around her head in attractive waves as she fluttered her ostrich fan before her face in a reflexive movement.

"What do you get out of this?" He snapped, "There was never any love lost between us, what is it that you want?"

Slowly she blinked her eyelids at him, "I am merely fulfilling my duty Dorian. Perhaps it is something you have forgotten existed after coming _here_." She didn't try to keep the disdain out of her voice as her eyes flicked poisonously across the room to where Elayne sat, unashamedly helping herself to some hors d'oeuvre in the corner. Dorian sent her a look of 'stop stuffing your face' and returned his attention to the woman reclined before him, like a lioness curled up ready to pounce from the chaise-long.

"I would prefer if you kept my fiancé out of this," he said coldly. "We were told you had information that could only be relayed in person, and that was of importance."

"But who is she?" The gooseberry eyes were glittering now.

"I introduced you not ten minutes ago." Dorian repeated, his voice still cold and sounding bored now. "This is Lady Elayne Trevelyan of the Free Marches."

Elayne thought she could hear the woman murmur 'barbarians' under her breath. But Dorian continued raising his voice, "But seeing as you seem to be suffering from short term memory loss, I shall introduce you again. My love?"

He turned round extending his hand to Elayne, who rose from her seat taking it graciously as Dorian kissed her outstretched fingers.

"My darling?" Her hazel eyes sparkled wickedly back at his.

"This is Lady Sibyl of house Vane, tenth cousin to Aurelian Titus. We were once betrothed for a brief period before my departure from Tevinter. Sibyl, this is Lady Elayne Trevelyan of the Free Marches, Leader of the Inquisition."

"Ah, the infamous Herald of the Heretic Andraste. Yes, I've heard the stories. We do not recognize the Inquisition in Tevinter." She said, the last part uttered so finally it was as if that belief meant that the Inquisition could not exist outside of the walls of Skyhold.

"How nice for you." Dorian replied mockingly, "I rather wish things _I_ did not recognize would similarly disappear." He finished his sentence short, with a heavy implication that this included her, but Sibyl pressed on as if he hadn't spoken.

"I do hope that you'll have a happy life together." She continued, "Although I rather do worry he will run away at the alter, it would be such a shame to jilt such a pretty girl. But then again he _is rather good_ at running away, isn't he?"

Elayne bit this inside of her lip and smiled pleasantly back. Why was _everybody_ trying to get under her skin today?

"I believe Dorian rather hoped," she took his hand in her own for added effect, showing them standing together one. "That you would give us this information. He has told me much of your cleverness and of your political influence in Tevinter. We will help if there is any possible way to do so, we do not lack the means, and we have support, manpower and finances."

Lady Vane sat back in the chaise-long, twirling the black ostritch fan between her fingers. The handle was mother of pearl, and the long slats were made from polished silver. Every now and again Elayne caught the reflection of herself in the shiny metal surface, the deep rich colour of her dress, the charcoal of Dorian's suit and the yellow of her collar. Lady Vane surveyed Elayne through her hard green gooseberry eyes for a full minute, as if she were making up her mind.

Finally she said, "Corypheus brings great shame to my people, to my nation. We are the cradle of civilization for humanity, our empire is one of the greatest empires to have ever existed on the face of Thedas. I will not sit idly about as Corypheus brings another blight into our lands, and neither will I let the countries of Thedas blame Tevinter because some … some _abomination_ claims he is a long dead Magister." She almost spat out the last words, so deep seated was her disgust.

"I am proud of my people but I will not apologize for the mistakes of one man who claims himself to be a God, and neither will I sit back as he persuades others to follow him on his psychotic crusade to crown himself as the new Maker. He claims to be of _our_ blood, of the _old blood_. He claims to want to raise Tevinter again to all her former glory and to conquer the rest of Thedas in Tevinter's name."

"Why may I ask; do you not believe him?" Elayne asked quietly, Dorian was still by her side now. Listening intently.

"Because I am not a fool," Sibyl snapped back. "I have eyes, ears and a brain. I have heard enough and seen enough. You have taken away a willing army from him, stripped him of his demons, taken from him a powerful weapon." She stole a furtive look here at Elayne's right hand. "He looks round now for a last assault – who can he persuade? The islands of Par Vollen and Seheron? Maybe, but he would have to enslave the Qunari before they would bear his yoke, they are already indoctrinated to the Qun and will not follow his lead willingly. Ferelden is still recovering from the blight, the Free Marches and Orlais have been turned upside down by the Mage and Templar war because you cannot control your populace. Where else has he to turn? For centuries we have fought the Qunari _unaided_ , we are a proud and mighty nation. We have both the infrastructure and resources, if used properly to wage war."

Dorian took a quick step forwards, "Is he in Tevinter? Have you seen him?"

"No, he is not a _fool_ Altus Pavus." Sibyl scoffed, flicking her fan at him as if to swat away an annoying fly. "He sends his agents and his emissaries to pave the way with golden words and lies, already they have a footing in Minrathous. Your _home_. How long do you think caution and reason will hold sway? Many yearn for the empire of old. So how long does he fan the flames before the wildfire starts? Already people in the capitol whisper his name behind closed doors. His representatives walked into the Chambers of Deliberation on foot and went _unchallenged_ , then they hold court in our Senate. What after? Do they take the hood from the Archeon and crown themselves rulers of Tevinter? This has already gone too far."

"They walked into the sacred Chambers?" Dorian's face had gone pale. "And they went unchallenged?"

"They were _applauded_ , Altus Pavus."

Dorian looked ashen, for a moment he seemed temporarily speechless.

"What support does he have?"

"None will come forward and say they support Corypheus – no one has openly spoken his name. But Lord Coven and his sister Herron act as his mouth. They seemed to be backed by some nobility or they have relatives in the Old Port of Minrathous."

Elayne looked to Dorian for an explanation as to what that meant, he turned aside to address her.

"It's a region of the city, one of the oldest regions actually. It's virtually untouched by the outside world, nobility and other king-makers live there. They all have money, and lots of it. Or very generous sponsors."

"So what is it that Corypheus's mouth proposes to do then?"

Lady Vane touched her ostrich feathers to her crimson stained lips, Elayne found herself watching the movement with fascination thinking that it was both clever and sharp yet it was a pleasing shape.

"My dear Dorian," Sibyl Vane crowed, "What do you _think_ he was promised?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow at her, his moustache twitching irritably.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking." He snapped, Elayne felt he would liked to have tacked a few words onto the end of his sentence but had restrained himself from doing so. She placed her hand over his and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Well Lord Pavus, I can only say I hope your future bride isn't as disappointed as I in your intelligence. Your father did boast to my mother of your extraordinary acumen and talent when he proposed our betrothal. I see now it was all hot air."

"He has promised them victory against the Qunari." Elayne said suddenly as it all seemed to click into place. "Tevinter will rise again without any outside help, and in doing so he will conquer two nations."

"Clever girl."

Dorian shot her a scathing look.

"And they _believe_ him?" He asked incredulously. "People seriously believe that an eight-hundred year old walking corpse is going to deliver Tevinter into some sort of golden age?"

"The armies of the Qunari knock on our gates almost hourly Dorian, what do they have to lose by joining him? They think they have everything to gain."

"This cannot be allowed to happen," there was a note of panic in Dorian's voice now. "He cannot be allowed to gain a foothold in Minrathous – it would destroy Tevinter. Look what he did to the Templars and what he tried to do to the mages in Redcliffe. Already our own mages are not bound by the same strict rules as their southern brethren." He ran his hand through his hair and looked distressed.

"It will not take much to persuade them that there is knowledge and power to be gained through practicing more long forgotten arts."

At that Lady Vane stood up and Elayne allowed herself a moment to admire her. She was a tall attractive woman of slender build and of fashionable features, her gooseberry eyes sparkled with an intelligence and wit that animated her face and made her almost startling to look upon.

"And now Dorian, I have fulfilled the promise that I made to both your mother and mine. I am now no longer obligated to House Pavus." She gave him a small mocking courtesy.

"Do what you will with this information, I leave for Tevinter on the morrow." She turned to address Elayne now, stretching out both her hands to receive the Herald's.

"I am told my quarters are on the second floor. You'll forgive me for my rudeness but think I will take a bite to eat in my chambers alone for a while, the journey here has been long and exhausting. I would however enjoy a turn about the grounds with you later Lady Trevelyan if you'll grace me with your company."

"Of course," Elayne responded without thinking, the manners her mother had impressed on her since early childhood working as a primary reflex. Dorian looked pained beyond all measure. "I would love to."

"Excellent," Lady Sybil replied sweetly. "We must come to know each other better you and I, I have many things to tell and to ask you about yourself and this…charming Inquisition. No doubt you will questions for me too."

Elayne Trevelyan smiled, "Of course, I have been wondering throughout this meeting however how long you've known Dorian Pavus for?"

From the corner of her eye she could see Dorian making a disgusted face at this comment, and Sybil replied in kind with a saccharine sweet voice that looked like it set all the hairs on the nape of Dorian's neck erect and to attention. "I have known Lord Pavus since he was a babe in swaddling clothes." And with a catty smile in Dorian's direction she left the room closing the door behind her.

A string of expletives burst forth from Dorian's mouth the second he thought she was out of earshot.

"That…that **woman**."

"Well observed, she is indeed a woman."

"Must she hound me to the ends of the earth!?" He was pacing angrily about the room now, swinging his arms this-way-and-that. "And my family, sending her instead of a neutral envoy. **Ha**."

"I suppose," Elayne said slowly, "That they knew you would listen if she was the one delivering the message."

"I would swim through a lake of leeches to get away from her." Dorian spat, his hair in fantastic disarray. "Can you imagine being betrothed to that… that monster? Oh it was a year of **hell**."

He massaged his temples with his forefingers as merely recalling the memory of this had given him a migraine.

"She is too smart to lie, and too cunning to be beguiled into leaving unless she thought it was urgent. I cannot believe she will return by herself tomorrow – she knows she has to leave _with me_. That's the reason she's come here, to fetch me back."

"Do you believe this information about Corypheus is a ruse then? An elaborate plan for a long overdue homecoming?"

"Do you?" He was looking at her pleadingly with his large deep brown eyes.

"I fear it sounds plausible Dorian, we have not heard from Corypheus since our last encounter at Mythal's temple. It is not unimaginable that so thwarted he would seek other means to get what he wants."

"Fuck."

She nodded in agreement. His complexion was ashen and she stepped forwards to pull him into an embrace.

"I shall have to go." He whispered into her ear, holding onto her shoulders tightly as if he might fall down. "If this really is the case I shall have to go back."

Elayne squeezed him tighter, ruffling his hair gently with her left hand. She let her thoughts cascade and merge into each other, following a natural current as they gathered momentum and force.

"No." She said quietly but firmly against his neck.

"No?" He drew back looking perplexed.

Elayne Trevelyan drew herself up to her full height and tucked some stray unruly curls back behind her ears.

"No Dorian, you shall not go alone."


End file.
